


Pretenders

by Drosera_Sundews



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cannibalism, Death, Gen, Isolation, Loneliness, Plot Twists, Post-Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse, but if you do, dubious survival strategies, it will mess you up, like very dubious, one big plot twist actually, very sad and gruesome at points, you might not notice it right away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drosera_Sundews/pseuds/Drosera_Sundews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course I tried to flee. No one can stay inside forever. I made my way through the ruins of my hometown, travelled from city to city. I briefly fought, but all to soon realized that running suited me better. So I ran. I ran and hid, ducked and jumped, slept in dusty hotel rooms. I looked for the world. My world. The one I’d grown up in, knew and loved. But I couldn’t find it. I never managed to get out of this new one, this hostile one. </p><p>Fighting really wasn’t going to work for me. I’ve never been strong or fast, or good with weapons. I’d need another strategy. </p><p>One must do what they can to survive, right? </p><p>Hello apocalipse</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretenders

**Author's Note:**

> In this story two people die. One in a pretty gruesome way. If you're a bit squirmish, you might not want to read this. Although it's not very detailed, for everyones comfort. 
> 
> I guess it's standard zombie apocalipse stuff. 
> 
> Except if you look closer it's not. It's really not. 
> 
> Proofread by my dear friend: [ Drawsoneverything ](http://drawsoneverything.tumblr.com)

The fun thing is that the beginning went quite smoothly. Rather lame considering it was the first act of mankind’s great finale, yet it passed by without the slightest disturbance.  
There were no explosions, not a single one. No screams in the distance. Lightning nor thunder. There never even was a rainy day. 

All throughout said days, everything was perfectly all right. You just went to work, fresh cup of coffee in your hand, smile on your face. You talked to your colleagues about the weather (it’s rather nice for this time of the year, isn’t it?) and all the exciting things you had done over the weekend. All was well and all was fine. 

Only in the evening, when you were at home, by yourself, you would notice it. A slight change in the atmosphere, a hint of passive panic. When behind you on the television politicians and scientists furiously preached with words that were by far too complicated for you to understand but with a tone of universal fear that was clear as day.  
As time passed by you’d notice that more and more often you were greeted by white noise when you turned on the radio, soon to be followed by black snow as you nervously zapped through the channels on your TV. The streets got more quiet with every passing day, and the little people that did go outside were nervous, walking quickly with their eyes shooting from side to side. Like spooked animals. 

It was as if everyone knew what was coming. It was the beginning of the end. 

The day I decided not to go outside anymore was a very lovely day with plenty of sunshine and the spring songs of birds drifting through my window. At that time I still wondered whether I was being too paranoid about all of this. 

Beneath my window, the streets got silent. Until no one was there anymore. 

But all too soon the noise came back. From the streets, this time clearly recognizable. People screaming, people running and other noises, gunshots, growling, grumbling.  
I never dared to look down, all day I sat pressed against the wall, eyes closed and hands over my ears, trying to block it out. But whatever I tried, the smell that set in a couple of days later mercilessly forced its way through all my defences. That terrible smell. It was the first time I realized that I hadn’t been paranoid at all, that this wasn’t just a dream. This was serious. Whatever happened down there, people had died. 

And deep inside I knew that they wouldn’t be the last to go. 

Hello apocalypse.

Of course I tried to flee. No one can stay inside forever. I made my way through the ruins of my hometown, travelled from city to city. I briefly fought, but all to soon realized that running suited me better. So I ran. I ran and hid, ducked and jumped, slept in dusty hotel rooms. I looked for the world. My world. The one I’d grown up in, knew and loved. But I couldn’t find it. I never managed to get out of this new one, this hostile one. 

\------------ 

The worst thing about the zombies is that they aren’t dead. 

I don’t know what made them this way. A virus maybe, or some kind of parasite. But then again I’ve walked among them and stood by their side and even though my mind is scarred and bruised, it’s still there and it’s still all mine. Nothing like those poor souls out there.

They do look like zombies. They’re always dirty, creasy with mud or blood. They’re smelly and all of them always seem to be covered in wounds or scratches. I never did figure out how they got those, they never fight each other. 

Zombies don’t talk. They only growl, groan and gurgle. They do walk, but never run, they also never seem to be going anywhere. 

Still, below all the dirt, they look shockingly much like humans. You’ve got them in all shapes and sizes, races and genders. There’s sweet looking old grandma zombies and skinny teenage zombies with hair in all possible rainbow colours. On very rare occasions, there’re even children among them. 

Shoot a zombie through its brain and it will fall down never to stand up again. Drown a zombie, it won’t surface. Burn it, and in the end it will be nothing but ashes. 

People must have fought them at some point, but I guess there were just too many of them. They might not be immortal or extraordinarily strong or fast, but in the end strength in numbers was apparently all they needed. 

I myself all to soon realized that fighting wasn’t going to work for me. I’ve never been strong or fast, or good with weapons. I’d need another strategy. 

\------------

Deep growling of the receptionist drags me back to the present. I slowly turn around. A woman, tall, with an unhealthy looking skin and deep eye sockets. She looks like she used to be fat at some point but hasn’t had a decent meal in quite a while. She looks at me with that soulless, blank gaze that suits the undead so shockingly well. 

I patiently growl back. 

She hands an old dirty sock to me. I take it. Some zombies still carry miniscule remnants of their old selves in their behaviour, painful reminders of what they used to be, at least, to me. The receptionist long ran out of keys to give away, but she still holds her post. It kind of works for me, for three weeks now I’ve stayed in this hotel and I haven’t paid a single cent for it. Not that money still has any value nowadays. 

There are three other zombies in the lobby. A small, skinny man with broken glasses stands right behind me. I can feel his breath on the back of my head. A woman in red is roaming in the back corner, where the sofa’s are. The dark, organic patterns on her dress could very well be a fashion statement, but I know better. A big, rather fat man is standing near the windows, looking out of them as if he’s lost in thought, probably not though. His face is a big bloody mess. 

I sadly nod my head, keeping in mind that I can’t change my expression. There might be only four of them, but they’ll still easily overpower me given the chance. 

I turn around and slowly walk towards the exit, after a couple of steps the sock falls out of my hand, I don’t turn around.

Outside, the sun is shining brightly. Funny how the universe doesn’t care about our little apocalypse. 

The marketplace is rather busy today. Many zombies strolling around calmly in the morning sun. There’s a rather nice atmosphere, for as far as that is possible in a town filled with undeads. I remind myself not to start whistling, I’d rather stay alive.

I walk across the marketplace. Loads of expressionless faces pass me by, many look familiar. Like the woman in blue who always wears an umbrella even if it doesn’t rain. She groans at me as she passes me by, I groan back. It’s not like being whished a good morning, but at least it’s somewhat close. 

And there’s the lean teenager, sitting on the edge of the broken fountain in the middle of the marketplace. Playing with a rubix cube, as usual. Another remnant. Just like the receptionist has. I’ve never seen even one solved side on the thing. 

She’s closely watched by countless pigeons. They hop around the fountain quickly, eyeing the masses as if they’re wondering why no one feeds them anymore. 

I walk towards the exit of the marketplace, eyeing the zombies next to me. A tall man, mid thirty with spiky hair, blankly gazes at me. He always roams around here, so often that I’ve almost come to see him as a neighbour. He wears a black shirt with the text “I’m alive” on it in big red letters. How ironic. 

I spend the morning straying through the streets and alleys. The city too is starting to look familiar. It’s been a while since I got lost and, more importantly, I know where to look for food. 

The supermarket is rather close to my hotel, fortunately. There was another one closer at some point, but it’s all empty now. My theory is that when there’s no fresh meat available, zombies will also eat other kinds of food. That would explain why they’re still out there even though the humans are long gone, and why they haven’t eaten each other yet.

It’s completely in ruins, of course. Almost all of the windows are broken, cracks run along the walls and several empty racks have been dragged outside and dumped on the street. It would probably look creepy, if it wasn’t for the bright daylight. I carefully look around, no zombies in sight.

I can still recall the first time I returned to the streets, and how terrified I was. My fear has long faded. I don’t exactly remember what scared me the most. The zombies around me or the possible humans hidden behind the dark windows above me, guns, a cold bullet in my ribcage. 

No human ever shot me, no zombie ever saw me. 

I walk towards the store’s entrance. One of the windows has miraculously survived the apocalypse. I hesitate, but eventually still turn around. 

Seeing myself like this always feel like a bucket of ice water being emptied over your head. Of course I know that the wounds on my chest and the scars on my face are self-inflicted. Of course I know that I’ve ripped my clothes up myself and that the blood on them is just my own and of course I know that the dead, soulless expression on my face is fake, and that I could still smile if I wanted to, at least, I hope so. 

But loathing your own reflection isn’t something you ever get used to. 

I quickly walk on and enter the store. It’s rather dark in here, compared to the street. There’s still plenty of food in the backroom, although not as fresh as I’d have liked. 

Sometimes this cruel world reminds me of high school. Where you had to wear the exact same clothes and exactly the right make-up otherwise they’d all pick on you. The only difference is that right now I won’t be bullied but eaten. 

I stand up and walk out of the store, back onto the streets. Slowly making my way back to the marketplace. 

They say zombies eat your brain. I wonder where that myth comes from. I know from my own experience that zombies usually don’t care which organ they lay their hands on. Yet sometimes I wonder whether they haven’t eaten my brain yet, secretly, while I was asleep. It does feel like that sometimes. 

Pretending to be someone you’re not, every second of every day. It’s a hell, I can tell you that. It’s been over a year since I’ve had a conversation that didn’t consist of groans and growls. My desire for contact, actual human contact, is so intense that it almost seems to become a physical feeling, like thirst or hunger. It’s terrible, but in a way, pleasant. It reminds me that I’m still human inside, even though on the outside I’m indistinguishable from the hordes. 

Strange how quickly a person can change. 

The sun is already sinking but the marketplace is still crawling with zombies. I quicken my pace unconsciously. In a while I’ll be back in my room again, where I can finally be myself, alone at last. 

I hear roaring in the distance. 

It takes a while for me to actually realize what I just heard, it’s certainly been a while. I want to turn around, but don’t dare to move fast with all the zombies around me. 

The sound grows louder. A roaring engine, screaming tires. Zombies can’t drive. 

I slowly turn around, but it’s no longer needed. The car already speeds onto the marketplace, scattering the silence. I hear the driver’ s scream over the roaring engine. The car’s red hide gleams in the evening light. 

It hits something, it slips. In a flash I see an unsolved rubix cube fly through the air. In front of me the pigeons fly for cover. 

With a big bang the jeep slams into the fountain. Metal folds, windows snap, glass flies through the air, sparkling as if the stars are already out right before chattering onto the street stones. Silence. The engine hisses, the smell of gasoline becomes overwhelming. 

The engine dies and for a moment, everything is silent. I hold my breath. 

Pounding, cursing. I hear something moving inside the car. Where those words? Actual words?

In a flash a hand breaks through the window. Covered in scratches but very alive. It grasps for the door handle. 

My panic has grown so intense I can actually feel it, like a giant clamp being fastened around my ribcage. I want to scream but my lungs refused to let me. I know so well, what is going to happen now. 

I can almost feel it. Hundreds of faces, countless staring eyes, dead eyes. Every zombie on the marketplace is looking at the car in complete silence. As if they’re all part of one giant being. 

I’m right there, among them. 

I hear shuffling feet behind me. Softly and doubtfully at first. My body feels feverishly hot, I’m sweating. More shuffling, footsteps. Hesitantly, the crowd starts moving. They don’t run, because zombies don’t run, but as I look around the marketplace I realize that running won’t be necessary. We’ve got him surrounded. Someone pushes against my back, I step forwards. 

With a loud thud one man’s body rolls out of the wreck and onto the street. He seems unharmed, save for all the scratches and bruises, and one of his arms is lying next to him in a very odd angle. 

Growing, mumbling, panting, footsteps. The crowd is getting active now. More bodies pile up behind me, forcing me to walk along. 

The man looks up. He’s got light brown eyes. The colour of leaves after fall. There’s so much emotion in his gaze, so much raw fear, that it almost hurts to look at it. 

But I have to, I’m in the front row. 

I’m in the front row. 

The panic strikes like lighting. I try to slow down, try to disappear into the masses behind me. But the wall of bodies stops me and mercilessly pushes me forwards onto the battlefield. 

Another step forwards.

I have been in hordes before, it’s almost unavoidable. If you’re lucky you end up all the way on the side of the group and you can quietly sneak away before it starts. If you’re not that lucky you just walk along with the rest, after all, only the zombies in the front row eventually get to kill and eat the victim. 

I’d never thought I’d end up in the front row though. 

The man crawls back now until he sits with his back against his car. Trying to get away from the slowly advancing wave of death. The horde. 

I want to help him. I want to help him so badly. He’s the only living person I’ve seen in months. Simply looking at him almost bring me to tears. He’s so bright, so alive. His eyes lock on mine. I see fear, desperation. I wonder what he sees. Will he see the living soul behind the dead eyes of a monster, just one of the horde? I can already see us fleeing. Out of here. Away from all the pain and solitude, finally, no more being alone. 

But the horde has no mercy, no one has passed me by yet. I mentally scream at the unfairness of it all. I can’t save him! Any wrong move and the horde will see me, and the only thing that will accomplish is that we’ll be eaten together. My life might be terrible, but fuck, I’m clinging on to it!

If only that would be it. But if I am to stay in character I’ll have to be the one to first dig into his flesh. 

No one should be forced to make choices like this. 

Please, please make someone stop me!

I’ll have to. 

No!

Four steps, three steps. Something changes on the man’s face, hardens, as if he’s accepting his fate. His good hand grasps his side. 

I know there’s no escaping it. I close my eyes and ball my fists. He’s going to die. He’s going to die anyways, right? It doesn’t really matter who does it, right?

Right?

Pain!

I freeze. My face slips out of control and a scream forms in the back of my throat. My flesh burns where the bullet forced itself through my hip. I look at the man, he seems shocked.

I try to recollect myself through the burning haze of pain. But my leg refuses to carry my weight and the bodies behind me keep on pushing, before I know it I’m lying on the street and the wave washes over me. 

It feels like the bullet went right through my bone. I whine and roll up into a ball. The zombies above me don’t notice me. I yelp as one of them puts his foot on my hand. All my willpower is needed to keep me from screaming. I close my eyes, but can’t help but hearing the screams of the man next to me. Terrible, terrible noise. More shots are being fired but it doesn’t last long. All to soon the only sound I can hear is that of countless zombies munching and chewing on flesh, muscle and bone of what once was a living being. Ripping it apart without the slightest bit of dignity. Another life disappearing behind their jaws. 

I just lay down, pretend to be death, as always, no one minds. 

\------------

The sun sinks below the horizon and slowly the fragmented horde leaves the marketplace. Some of them with faces that gleam under a new layer of fresh blood. Slowly the silence returns again. 

With the silence, the rain also returns, for the first time in ages it falls again. Washing the tears off my face. 

Only much, much later, I dare to move.

The remains of the man lay in front of me, he took two zombies with him. His face is still intact, I don’t dare to look. I feel like a filthy coward, but also intensely grateful that it wasn’t me. It doesn’t matter a bit for the outcome, but at least it wasn’t me. 

Small rivers of rain are forming between the street stones, taking the blood with them into the sewers. I wince, not all of that blood is his. 

I try to stand up. White hot pain sears through my leg. I fall down again. Fortunately, there aren’t any zombies around anymore. I scream out loud, for the first time in ages. 

Supported by the old, broken fountain, I manage to haul myself up again. It hurts, it hurts very badly.  
I take a few small steps forwards, mainly leaning on my arms. My breath gets quick and shallow. My vision turns blurry. 

I need to get to my room. I need to bind my wound. Stop the bleeding. Somehow. By the love of all things living, I can’t think of any way to bind off a hip wound. 

It’s only a couple of meters to the hotel. I take a deep breath and let go of the fountain. 

Every step is sheer torture, as if someone is ramming white hot pins into my hip. I yelp. Tears streaming down my face. I clench my teeth together so hard they almost break. My zombie walk surely has never been this convincing. 

Against all odds I make it to the door. I step back into the hotel. There’s the fat man and the woman in red, roaming in the back. The receptionist still holds her post. 

I can't let them see it!

I try to keep my face clear of emotions, but only barely manage. Looking expressionless has never been this hard. My entire body is tense and the burning pain from my hip keeps on forcing its way into my thoughts. Desperately, I try to keep myself from crying. The way from the door to the desk has never been this long. 

The tears keep on coming, I close my eyes. 

Stupid. 

It shouldn’t hurt, not with my speed of impact. But upon hitting the corner of the desk my broken bones unleash one final wave of agonizing pain. I scream, unable to hold my emotions, my face breaks open and my tears run freely. I collapse in front of the desk, desperately trying to stop my leg from burning. I’m shaking all over. Panting. Clawing at the carpet. I slowly look up. 

The receptionist.

Her soulless eyes are staring at me over the counter. Her face casting a shadow upon my wrecked body. My eyes can’t seem to turn away from her. My pain is so clearly visible, like a neon sign on my forehead. HUMAN. HUMAN. I shiver, whimper. Too late to hide, I close my eyes, I rest my case. 

Hello apocalypse. 

“No, fuck, not again.”

Words? Was that my voice?

A rattling sound, a rifle getting ready for battle. I look up. 

She’s kneeling on the counter, gun leaning on her knee, finger on the trigger. Her teeth are clenched, her eyes full of anger. Unbelievable. 

“Stay there!” She yells hoarsely. The two remaining zombies turn around. They stand still for a moment, so do we. 

“Wait! Stop!” The woman in the red dress. Her voice is weak and broken, yet clear. In a second, her face splits open like the sky after a thunderstorm. Like bright sunlight, hidden emotions rush to the surface.  
“Pease don’t shoot, I’m still alive!” Her voice is so full of joy it almost makes me cry. 

The fat man near the window turns around and looks at her. They're barely two meters apart.

“NO!” Was that my voice?

“Wait, I’m just a prete...”

The gun rattles. Blood. Loads of it. Headshot. 

He spins around in the air for a second, then he falls. A loud thump, making us all cringe.  
His mask rolls away, spinning for a second like a rolling coin, then it too, falls.  
His face, his real face, is frozen forever in a bloody smile. Probably his first smile in ages.

**Author's Note:**

> Secretly we're all Pretenders


End file.
